Sound Of Desperation
by Punky Misfit
Summary: After an attack ends Booth's career as a field agent, he must learn to adapt to his new role in life; an acclimation he doesn't handle all that well.
1. Agent Down

The sound of gunfire would forever reverberate in Brennan's ears. The moving images of Booth's silhouette slumping to the ground would forever be burned upon her mind; replaying any time she dared to shut her eyes. The panic would become as familiar as her own heartbeat; the heartbeat that had stopped the moment she'd numbly stumbled over to his fallen body.

_The broken street light concealed the Sequoia as it sat hidden in the shadows. Booth and Brennan sat slouched low in their seats. A word hadn't been exchanged between them in quite some time. While she glanced to him sporadically, his eyes hadn't strayed away from the inconspicuous alleyway just beyond their windshield. His jaw was clenched; his muscles tight. He was a jaguar on the prowl ready to pounce onto his unsuspecting victim._

_They'd received intelligence that a suspect they'd been pursuing in the death of a college student frequented the area. Specifically, the run down bar that sat on the street corner behind them. Ever since they'd been made aware of his name they'd yet to be able to detain the man for questioning. His home address was inaccurate. Steady employment wasn't a part of his life. Tracking him down had been a full time job in itself. _

_Booth firmly believed due to the mounting evidence and his past criminal record that Robert Allen was guilty, even if he had no solid proof. As always he trusted his gut instead of using logic. That was Brennan's role. Her way of keeping him level headed and objective. _

"_What are you thinking?" She asked him quietly._

_His intense gaze remained averted from hers. "I wanna get this guy, Bones."_

_She reminded him, "but we don't have evidence to formally charge him. The warrant only allows us to bring him in for questioning." _

_He wasn't swayed. "I know he's the one. I just know it. It makes complete sense to me. He never should have been released from prison."_

_She had no counter argument for that statement. Allen was a cold hearted killer who had appealed his sentence and won on a technicality. It wasn't fair, but the world never was._

_Another silence fell between them. Never before had she seen him so serious during a stakeout. On the handful they'd been through together they'd never had any success in capturing their suspects. Boredom typically resulted in him being overly chatty. He'd never lose his awareness of their surroundings, however._

_The outline of a figure flashed in the light from the alley. "That's him," Booth declared assuredly. He opened his car door and slid out from his seat, service weapon already in hand._

The ambulance bounced along as it hit every single pot hole and imperfection in the streets, sending her bobbing up and down on her posh leather bench seat. The jarring didn't affect her in any way. Her shock and sorrow had taken control of all of her senses, numbing her to any impending outside forces. Life had softened her walls that were once made of steel. No long could she disassociate from sorrow. Not when her husband had just been mortally wounded right before her very eyes. Certainly not when it was all her fault.

"_Stay here!"_

"_No! I'm not letting you run off on your own!"_

_His heated glare burned into hers. "I need you to stay behind to call for help if anything happens. And I need you to stay for Christine."_

_Her protests died on her lips. Anything for their daughter. Mournfully she watched as he charged forth into the shadows. _Stay safe! _She felt like calling after him, but the well wish would risk exposing her position. On pins and needles she waited for a sign, or some other indication that Booth had nabbed Allen. Nothing in the midnight air wavered. The silence was almost deafening. After a few minutes she leaned forward, just in time to see a man tip toeing in the direction Booth had headed off in. _Oh, no. _No longer did she have a choice. She had to intervene._

"BP is sky high! Get him stabilized!"

"He's losing too much blood! What's our ETA?"

"Two minutes."

"Shit. Hurry up!"

_Above all else she had to be discreet. The threat to both of their lives was great, but Booth's was paramount. If the slightest inkling of her presence spooked Allen then it was Booth she risked harming. It was a chance she wasn't willing to take. Nothing was worth losing the love of her life._

_She traced the steps into the heart of the alley. At the opposite end Booth was skulking away like a stray cat. His gun was extended forward, ready to defend himself if the need arose. Allen was mere feet away from his foe. She would never be able to catch up, and without being armed she was unable to do much in the way of playing a savior. Her only thought was to call out a warning. _

"_BOOTH! LOOK OUT!"_

_Before Booth had time to fully comprehend the situation presented to him, multiple shots were fired. Before her very eyes he collapsed lifelessly to the ground._

"We're pulling up to the hospital now!"

Booth was dying. She'd known it from the moment she'd dropped onto her knees besides him. Paramedics had done little outside of prepping him for transport. His clothes had been cut away, exposing the two wounds that had been afflicted to his chest and stomach. His skin was coated with a copious amount of blood. So much, in fact, that it was difficult to discern where his actual wounds were. They'd supplied him with oxygen by way of a mask that covered his mouth and nose, but it wasn't successful in assisting him. There was a still a wet, sucking sound with his respirations. One of the bullets had likely punctured a hole into one of his lungs. Beneath the hard plastic he was still noticeably fighting just to inhale a complete, single breath. A bluish hue was beginning to tint his lips and the tips of his fingers. Rapidly was he circling the drain.

_Booth, please. _She stretched her arm across the space between them to grip his hand. The cool temperature of their embrace was shocking to her. _You have to hold on. I can't lose you. _We _can't lose you. I don't want Christine growing up without a father. She deserves to know the wonderful man and father that you are. Booth. _She squeezed his palm. _You have to fight. Please._

The ambulance came to a halt. The back doors burst open with the force of thunder. Brennan had no choice but to let go of his hand as the two were separated. He was hurriedly whisked away. Slowly she withdrew to follow. Voices echoed in the halls.

"What've we got?"

"Male. Gunshot wounds to the chest, stomach, and upper thigh. BP is two hundred over one ten. Respirations are thirty four. Pulse is one thirty."

_His thigh? _Brennan groused dismally. _I didn't even notice it. _

"All right. Lets get him straight into surgery!"

Brennan trailed behind until she was prevented from moving further. One of the treating paramedics stopped her in her tracks. "I'm sorry, but this is where I have to cut you off."

"He's my husband." She protested weakly. "I should be with him."

"There's nothing more you can do for him now. Just go the waiting room. Someone will be out to talk to you as soon as they can. But to be honest," suddenly he wouldn't look at her. "I think you'll be waiting a while."

Her breath was stolen away. "He won't die," she sputtered her rebuttal. "He's… he's strong. He's jumped out of airplanes. Been blown up. He'll survive this."

"With all due respect ma'am, in my experience it's rare that a man with the extent of injuries he has survives. And if he does, he's never the same."

A sheet of ice formed over her heart. "Perhaps. But you don't know him."

He nodded politely. "Good luck. To you both."

She angrily stormed away. _No. I refuse to accept that. He will survive. He will. _The atmosphere of the waiting room was nothing but a blur. She lowered herself into the first chair she came across. _He _will _survive. _Her arms wrapped around her middle. She bowed her head.

_He has to._


	2. Details In The Disaster

Darkness. The sun had plummeted below the horizon and bathed the world in pure, untainted darkness. In the aftermath Booth felt nothing but an intense pain that deep down, he was well aware was killing him. Though he couldn't recall what happened he knew he was knocking upon death's door. The longer the night remained blanketed over him, the worse he felt. Voices were surrounding him on all sides. Confusion wracked his brain, and made deciphering their words nearly impossible. But the urgency in their tone wasn't lost on him.

"Where's that blood I ordered?!"

His heart was racing at a pace in which his weakened lungs couldn't match. Each inhalation was pure agony. Nothing quenched his internal plea for oxygen, no more how rapidly or deeply he inhaled. The effort was much like sucking through a straw that had a hole in it. He could obtain some air in his effort, but not nearly enough. Not enough to save his life.

Suddenly he was transported into the depths of a darkened tunnel. All his pain ceased to exist. A feeling of utmost pleasure lit up in his toes and spread upwards throughout his body. _No, _he deliriously tried to argue with himself. _Bones. I gotta see her. I gotta-_

"Pulse is one sixty. Something's happening here."

"He's crashing! Get the forceps out of him. Someone get a cart and call a code!"

Brennan. The love of his life. The mother of his child. No other woman had ever been as frustrating, or as challenging as the one who had claimed his heart. He'd spent years chasing after her before admitting defeat, only to turn around and find himself being pursued. There'd been numerous ups and downs. They'd experienced many heartaches and triumphs. But the day in which she'd agreed to be his wife had been one of his happiest. His life had finally come full circle. He was complete.

"CLEAR!"

With a jolt his paper wings burned up in the atmosphere. He dropped from the heavens straight back down onto earth. The pain returned in tenfold. His eyes wouldn't cooperate when he attempted to open them. Nor would his muscles when he tried to make any sort of movement. His rattled mind misinterpreted his signals. He fought to speak, but that too, was fruitless. The effort left him exhausted. When a heavy curtain crashed down upon him he permitted it to take him away.

"All right. There's nothing left to be done here. Get him stabilized and on a morphine drip. There's an open room waiting in the ICU for him." The voice clucked its tongue. "Poor bastard. He doesn't have a chance in hell."

* * *

Time was not kind to Brennan, and in each excruciating minute that passed she felt as though she were being tortured. Hours slugged on by without any news of Booth's condition. Alone she watched a revolving door of families trek in and out of the waiting room. Some mirrored the expression she imagined she was wearing. Others left in tears. Deep down she feared she would be among one of the unlucky ones tonight. There were few positive ways in which Booth's situation could play out.

It would take six hours and the rising of the sun before she would receive any insight into his condition. She rose from her seat when at last a doctor approached her. "Hi. I'm Dr. Wilson. Are you the party with Seeley Booth?"

"Yes. He's my husband." She tried to keep herself calm and collected. Inside she was an absolute wreck. "How is he?"

"His injuries are… expansive, for lack of a better word. The bullet which entered his chest punctured a lung and resulted in massive internal bleeding. It has seriously compromised his ability to breathe on his own. The damage the second projectile caused forced us to remove a small portion of his stomach to do repairs. The wound to his thigh was really the only one we were able to fix without any issues. During the administering of treatment his heart stopped. We were able to bring him back but…" Dr. Wilson sighed. "He's just very weak. We have him on life support, but right now… it's just a waiting game. There's nothing more than can be done for him."

She should have been expecting it. But to have her worst fears confirmed was still a sharp silver dagger to her heart. "I'd like to see him, please." She requested. The walls of her throat felt tight enough to collapse inwards on themselves.

"I'm sorry, but I can't allow that today. You may see him tomorrow."

"But…why?" She was baffled. How could this man standing before her prevent her from seeing her husband? Particularly when he was so critically wounded?

"He isn't strong enough for it at the moment. And neither are you. Go home. Get some rest. Come back fresh tomorrow."

"You don't understand. I have to be with him." There was no other option. Her place was besides his bed, watching over him as though she were his guardian angel.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, sounding anything but.

Getting home meant surrendering to the mercy of a taxi cab. Although she could have called Angela, her best friend, ultimately she decided against it. Involving someone so close to her meant she'd have to answer questions she wasn't ready to. She'd have to stare the truth in the face. If she was going to fall apart then she preferred to do so privately first rather than with others. That was just her nature, to suffer in isolation.

However, she hadn't counted on her father anxiously awaiting her arrival. She'd taken no more than a few steps into her home before he was rushing in from the living room. "How is he?"

During her time at the hospital she'd called him only to tell him that Booth had been hospitalized. Since she'd been trying to keep her composure she'd neglected to offer him any other details. "Dad-" Her voice cracked, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Tempe." He braced her arms. "What happened to Booth? I thought you were just doing surveillance work?"

"We were. In attempting to rein in the man we were seeking for questioning he was shot." A tear dripped down her cheek. "Three times. Twice in the torso and once in his leg."

Max gasped. "Oh, Tempe." He hugged her tight.

"Much damage was done internally. He's on life support. They wouldn't allow me to see him." She appreciated her father's comfort, but nothing would ease the aching inside. "He left me behind in the car. He was… he was concerned over my safety. And he was the one whom ended up needing protection. I tried to warn him. I yelled to him. Perhaps if I hadn't this never would have happened."

"You can't know that. You can't blame yourself."

But she did. "I… I believe I just need to lay down for a while. Once I am well rested I will be able to approach this with a clear mind."

He smiled wryly. "No amount of sleep is going to ease the pain you're feeling. Believe me. I know."

Either way, she was dead on her feet. "Where's Christine?"

"She's still asleep. I'll take care of her. Just go relax."

Actually, it was her daughter's consolation that she wanted most. The two separated. Upstairs she trudged, feeling all the more distraught with every step. How could this have happened? Twenty four hours ago they'd been joshing over breakfast and discussing soon taking an extended vacation. He'd been healthy. Vibrant. Safe. How had her worst nightmare occurred during her waking hours?

Christine didn't wake as she eased her from her crib. She carried her across the hall into the bedroom she shared with Booth. One handed, she turned back the blankets and crawled inside. Her daughter remained tucked safely in her arms. Lovingly she swept her hair off of her forehead and kissed her. Booth always insisted that Christine looked just like her mother. Perhaps there were certain manners that the child exhibited that proved that statement to be true. However, in Brennan's eyes, she was an exact replica of her father. The father she had a strong chance of never knowing.

Finally, she let go of the tears she'd been holding inside. This was only the beginning.


	3. Strength and Weakness

Staying away from Booth was pure, unadulterated torture. Every hour she had to resist the temptation to phone the hospital and plead for an update. She tried to reassure herself that if the very worst had occurred, if he'd succumbed to his injuries like she so dreaded, surely she would have heard something. But the self appeasement just wasn't good enough. She needed real, solid proof of his survival. She needed skin and bone; muscle and sinew. She was like a junkie, and he was the drug she so desperately craved.

Along those same lines, missing him was like going through a painful withdrawal. Sleeping was near impossible. Eating wasn't fathomable. All her attention was devoted to their daughter in hopes of being a distraction. But staring into her eyes which so strongly resembled Booth's was another knife to her heart. _This isn't how it was supposed to be for us. This wasn't supposed to happen. _Perhaps not. But life was no fairy tale. She just wished she hadn't been given such a harsh reminder.

For hours that night she lie awake thinking of all that had transposed. Any and every time she shut her eyes she watched as he collapsed in a heap to the ground, the blood already spilling from his body. Down she fell onto her knees besides him, begging him to fight as she worthlessly attempted to seal at least one of his wounds with no more than her palms. Nothing more could she do than observe as the life slowly faded from his eyes. Next she was transported back into the ambulance, watching him hold onto life by a sliver thin thread. In recalling these events it amazed her how he'd survived thus far. The real question was did he have the strength to continue to fight? He was stable, yes. But she knew how quickly that could change. For all she knew his condition could have deteriorated to the point of no return. This thought alone warded off any rest she might have finally received. At last she came to accept that there would be no adequate amount of rest until she witnessed his stability with her own eyes.

When morning arrived she was up just as soon as the sun rose. The home was quiet as she tip toed through it. Though her eyes felt as though they'd had gritty sand rubbed into them she forced herself to run through her typical morning routine. After a shower she dressed, and then descended downstairs. Her stomach soured at the thought of breakfast, but she knew she needed to at least attempt to eat. If it was all possible she'd give Booth every last ounce of her strength. But if she was running on fumes she'd be of no assistance to either one of them.

She was in the middle of making pancakes when Max arrived in the kitchen cradling Christine. He smiled warmly at her before securing the child into her high chair. "Were you able to get any shut eye last night?"

"No." She sighed in frustration. "I don't believe I will until I spend some time with Booth. I fully intend on arriving at the hospital just as soon as visiting hours begin."

Max nodded. "Just don't expect too much out of him, Tempe."

She whirled around away from the stove to glare ice into him. "I don't know what that means."

"It means if his injuries are really that severe, he may not be up for much. Hell, he might not even be conscious. I just don't want you to expect some miracle out of him."

She sniffed remissively. "I know what I saw when he was injured." For some reason admitting that he'd been shot multiple times was difficult for her to speak out loud. "I know the balance his life continues to remain in. I don't know what I am expecting. But it certainly isn't for him to be bright eyed and on his feet ready to go home. I'm not a fool."

"I know. I never said you were. But I know how much you love him. And I know how hard it is to see someone you love in so much pain, and suffering. I just don't want you to get your hopes up only to be crushed when he's worse than you thought."

"That won't happen," she assured him. But deep in her heart she was afraid he was right. Was she prepared for the emotional turmoil she was sure to experience? Well, it didn't matter. Neither heaven nor hell could keep her away from him.

During the drive her nerves were impossible to control. Each passing mile that brought her closer to the hospital tied her stomach into tight knots. By the time she pulled into a parking space she felt ready to vomit what small bit of breakfast she'd been able to consume. Before being able to exit her car she was forced into taking a few moments for herself. Finally with a deep breath she entered the hospital with a walk that suggested strength and poise. No one needed to know that inside, she was dying.

Unfortunately before she was permitted to see him she was told she'd have to meet with Dr. Wilson. For fifteen minutes she waited anxiously on pins and needles until the doctor had time to address her. Just outside Booth's room the two spoke intimately. "His condition hasn't improved much, but he's remained stabilized. While I am confident enough now to say he's likely going to pull through this, I don't believe he's ever going to be the same." He repeated precisely what the paramedic had told her. "The bullet to his thigh damaged his leg in way that he's always going to have a slight limp to his step. As for his stomach and his lungs..." He sighed and shook his head. "He has a long, hard battle in front of him. He's lucky to be alive. I've seen many gunshot victims with his type of injuries that haven't been able to survive."

Brennan nodded slightly. "He's strong," were the only words she could find in agreement. He _was _strong; certainly one of the strongest men she'd ever known. But when she again found herself reflecting on the events that occurred just after he'd been wounded, she knew how rapidly he'd weakened. That strength had been taken away. She had no idea what to expect in it's place. "Has he been conscious at all?"

"In and out. He has yet to speak to us, though."

She offered her most sincere gratitude. The two dispersed. Her heart was in her throat and she could feel her pulse beating in her temples as she at last stepped into Booth's room. His condition might have been constant, but he was still being kept in intensive care for close monitoring. The sight of him stole the breath right out of her lungs. Her feet froze to the floor. A ghostly figure was buried beneath an array of machines. The blankets that had been laid over him with care highlighted the sharp edges of his form; namely the thick bandages hidden underneath. Tubes snaked all around his body. A large, ribbed one had been inserted through his mouth down into his throat. At the opposite end of the tubing was a device that was compelling him to breathe. Methodically his chest rose and fell as the machine instructed him to do so. Although the damage to his lung had been repaired, there was still an unpleasant sound as he completed each respiration. _He still can't breathe on his own, _she realized with tears burning her eyes. Gradually she was able to coerce herself into moving closer to his side.

Upon closer inspection she noticed a darkened hue that the area around his eyes had taken on. His skin otherwise was the same color as recycled newspaper. There were lines on his sallow face that hadn't been present before the shooting. They were marks of weakness; of a man who hadn't given up fighting for his life.

She placed her hand inside of his. In the silence of the room her voice was like a sharp knife. "Booth."

His fingers tugged faintly on hers. She glanced up to his face to see his eyes flutter open. He wasn't able to open them all that wide, and the glaze that had formed over them informed her that he had a loose grip on reality. But that wasn't important, just so long as she had his attention. "Hi," she undertoned to him. "How are you feeling?"

He did no more than stare at her.

Through her sorrow she tried to smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you sooner. Your doctor wasn't allowing you to have visitors. I didn't feel it was fair but I had no choice but to abide by his rules. But I am here now, and I have no intention of leaving until I am made to do so. This is where I belong. With you."

During her speech one of his eyes had narrowed into a skeptical squint. Despite the fact that he continued to gaze at her, she recognized the look of utter confusion. She solidified herself against a brand new onslaught of pain she hadn't been prepared for. "Booth… are you aware of what happened to you?"

Weakly he shook his head no.

"You were…" She drew in a great, steadying breath. The effort was worthless. Tears still streamed down her cheeks. "While pursuing a suspect bullets struck you twice in your chest and once in your thigh. You've been critically injured. Your heart stopped while you were in surgery. No one but me honestly thought you were going to survive. But you prevailed."

The expression of unease didn't lessen, prompting the next question which was by far the most difficult to ask. "Do you know who I am?"

Once again, with a slight back and forth motion of his head he indicated no. She struggled to prevent herself from crying out in anguish. This couldn't be real. "It's Bones, Booth. We're partners. We're married." _We're madly in love. You mean everything to me._

Nothing was striking a chord with him. He held onto her stare until he could do so no longer. His exhaustion got the best of him. Briefly he stared off into space as his eyelids lowered. When they shut she observed muscles loosen. With instants he slipped deep into a sound slumber.

Brennan flew from his room. She sought out Dr. Wilson standing at the nurses' station. Frantically she addressed him in a jumbled mess. "Booth is suffering from the affects of amnesia! He doesn't remember what happened to him, and he can't identify me! You need to-"

Dr. Wilson was swift to silence her. "Dr. Brennan, it means nothing. It isn't even at all surprising to me. We've had to put him on multiple medications. He's been given transfusions, but he suffered a great deal of blood loss. It's just going to take some time for his system, and that's including his brain, to right itself again. I promise you, once he's well enough that he won't require so many drugs his memory will make a vast improvement."

She tried to take heart in his words. But truthfully she was still feeling dejected. Mournfully she returned to Booth's room. As he still slept she lowered herself into a chair next to his bed. "We'll take this however slow you need to," she whispered to him. "And if you can't I will find a way to make you remember me, and our lives together. I may not have all the answers. But we will get through this. We'll find a way."

She could only hope that her promises weren't in vain.


End file.
